


Sharper | Dick Grayson (Titans)

by BrookeNatalie



Category: Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Archery, Big Brothers, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Robin, Episode: s05e12 Titans Together, F/M, Jason Todd is Robin, Justice League (DCU) as Family, Protective Older Brothers, Soulmates, Titans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25086268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookeNatalie/pseuds/BrookeNatalie
Summary: " I've battled hard with the face in the mirror. Every scar makes me dig down deeper. "Dick Grayson and Brooklyn Natalie ━ their lives mirrored each other's in so many ways. Sometimes, the mirror showed the same thing, like their past. Other times, the mirror showed the complete opposite, like their present.© BrookeNatalieAlso in Wattpad under @BrookeNatalie
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Koriand'r & Garfield Logan & Raven, Dick Grayson & Koriand’r & Garfield Logan & Raven, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dick Grayson/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7
Collections: Rachel





	1. ZERO ━ SHARPER

****

**A HERO'S JOURNEY WAS NEVER AN EASY ONE.** Anything and _everything_ would try to stop the hero from reaching the top of the mountain, from setting foot on paradise and attaining their triumph. There are dragons, monsters, raging fires and horrors lurking in every dark corner. There are shadows threatening to take away any form of light that could guide him towards the right path and demons grabbing every opportunity to sway his heart.

 **IN THE END, THE HERO TRANSCENDS, REIGNS VICTORIOUS.** He fought and protected, repented and liberated, inspired the people and deserved the glory. He was the image of a changed man, of the shining armor and the golden heart as bright as the sun behind him. He would hear the sound of crowds cheering, people fawning, royals applauding and gods acknowledging the insurmountable feats he had accomplished, undefeatable battles he had conquered and indestructible foes he had vanquished.

 **AH, BUT STORIES HAVE THEIR WAYS WITH WORDS.** In every fairytale, the hero doesn't look back at each step he took. We are told—and the hero believes—that every choice he made was necessary to fulfill his purpose as the Chosen One, as the Savior destined to bring happiness to the lands. We aren't told—for the hero ignores—what his sword was truly doing, his double-edged sword.

He fought and protected—he killed and bled. He repented and liberated—he sinned and condemned. He inspired the people and deserved the glory, the charming epitome of courage—he tricked and cheated, fooled and deceived to get what he wanted, what he believed he needed.

 **THIS WAS THE PARADOX OF THE HERO,** the secrets hidden behind bright-colored costumes and medals of valor, and the curse of the double-edged sword. With every swing of the blade, each drop of blood it drew, each life it took and every one that it has saved, the sword would only get **SHARPER.**


	2. ENTRY ONE ━ MIRROR.

__

_'_ _they were inseparable,  
__but there weresecrets hiding,  
__anger building and regret gnawing  
__at their souls threatening to tear them apart_. _'_

━━━━━━✧━━━━━━

❛ **I'VE NEVER STARED AT A MIRROR FOR LONG,** and for the longest time, I believed there was no reason to.

I didn't need a mirror to know I had a black eye or a scratch, a busted lip or bruises from the previous night. I felt every hit and every blow, every slice and every blade that would come at me—that is, if they even managed to touch me in the first place.

I didn't need a mirror to know what I looked like. I knew the ins and outs of every mask I've put on, every persona I've created and every character I've played. All of them different, but none of them were real. 

One glance at a mirror was more than enough to know who I was beneath all those masks. I knew who my family was, who my heart belonged to, who I dedicated my life to.

But once upon a blue moon, when the stars align just right, I'd look straight into my own eyes—those hazel-blue beauties that everyone would fawn over—and get lost in them. They were the type of eyes that allured anyone, and I would know because I've used them to my advantage many times.

The glamour was so captivating, bewitching and almost... _intoxicating_. They were my eyes, but I found myself trapped in the way that my blue irises complemented the hazel starbursts by the pupils. Mom used to say they were beautiful, like there was a star in my eye. Dad had a similar description, except he would say I had a whole galaxy in them.

The hazel eyes were Dad's. The blue eyes were Mom's. I admired what they had given me, the beauty that they saw in their only child, but the longer I stared was exactly the reason why I never allowed myself more than a glance at a mirror.

The notion that a master of deception would become so exceptionally adept at her trade that she fooled herself was too poetic. I didn't want to believe that I lost myself in the labyrinth I've carefully fabricated throughout the years. 

The way the blue swirled around my eyes no longer made a map of the galaxy like Dad said they did. The hazel starbursts were no longer the stars that Mom said they were. It was darkness emerging from the pitch-black center, shadowing the light. It was the color of dried blood, the stains that you see on someone's clothes when they didn't make it. Yet, the dried blood spilled into the ocean like it was still fresh blood, like it was coffee poured into a mug on a Sunday morning. Mornings... the mornings that innocents never woke up to the next day because of both my failure and impulse to act.

I refused to believe that mirrors didn't distort reality like the ones in the circus did, but the longer I gazed into my own eyes and stared into my soul, I began to unravel what the years have done to me, what I have become.

The personas I've portrayed were no longer masks that I could easily take off. There was no running from reality, but coming from someone who lived sixteen years in a complicated web of lies, it merely felt like another game I could play.

If I had lived sixteen years believing that someone else came out when the suit was on, when the mask was up, or the cameras were rolling, then what was a few more?

I could go on pretending.

I'd be lying to myself, but I've lied my whole life.

What difference does this make? ❜

— 𝓑.𝓝.


	3. one.

****

**SCARS WERE A PERMANENT REMINDER OF OUR PAST.** It was a mark etched on our skin, on our soul forever, reminding us of what we once were, of what broke us and of what created the person we’ve become. 

There could be a hundred scars on someone’s face, yet their backs would be straight and their feet would stand firm. There could be tens of thousands of scars on someone’s back, yet their faces could look perfectly fine. 

That was the definition of strength, the ability to put on a smile, take the next step and move on with life despite everything that tried to chain you down. It was hiding those scars so the world didn’t know what your eyes had seen or what your hands had crushed.

That was Brooklyn Natalie, a twenty-six-year-old brunette walking into the Detroit Police Department with a suitcase in hand. She wore a friendly face and a casual smile as she asked for a particular detective, and a blonde woman who happened to walk by the front desk answered her question.

“Detective Grayson just left a few minutes ago, said he needed to work a case," She told the brunette. She extended her hand to her, introducing herself, "Amy Rohrbach. I'm his new partner,"

“Natalie,” Brooklyn introduced herself as she firmly shook her hand.

“You need someone for a case?” Amy asked in a professional fashion.

“No, I…,” Brooklyn paused, then in a quick second decided to say, “Would you know what case he’s working on right now?” 

“Last I heard from him was Hackett,” Amy informed the brunette. “Although the rest is classified and I’m admittedly still learning the ropes around here,” 

“It’s fine,” Brooklyn smiled. The mere mention of a simple surname was enough for the brunette, and the two engaged in casual conversation as they left the station together.

With the suitcase, she was holding and the way she was dressed, Amy was given the impression that the brunette was a businesswoman coming from the end of a long workday, and by the way that Brooklyn was carrying herself and speaking to Amy, it seemed like it.

Brooklyn introducing herself as Natalie may throw it off, but even with a closer look at her, no one could have ever guessed who she really was—the leather jacket, the dog tag around her neck, combat boots, and  _ her suitcase _ , the sleek rectangular case that had three distinct blue lights by its lock. 

* * *

While Brooklyn certainly did a good job, seemingly liberated from any deterrence that her scars had on her, there was another who struggled.

In a car parked across a Detroit bar was Richard John, file in hand and a suitcase on the seat beside him, whispering temptations like the devil in his ear. The stone look on his face contrasted Brooklyn’s charming smile, which was only further darkened when a group of men exited the bar with a large duffel bag.

Red was the color of danger, of warning that something shouldn’t be done. That was the red on his suitcase’s lock. There was a voice in his head telling him that he shouldn’t, but there were whispers in his ear tempting him—his inner battles translating into his body language.

With a clenched jaw, he gave into the devil in his mind, pressing his thumb onto the largest red light―a fingerprint scanner―and looked straight at the suitcase. The two smaller lights on the side turned green like the one in the middle―retina scanners―and the suitcase clicked open.

Meanwhile, the group of men he had been eyeing made their way into a narrow alleyway, meeting up with another group.

The duffel bag was tossed on the ground, and the gang leader opened the bag to reveal stuffed animals. Of course, it wasn't exactly that. Cutting the white tiger plushie open, the gang leader pulled out a packet of pink-tinted drugs.

"Pink?"

"The kids love it," Tyler Hackett shrugged.

A whoosh of fabric was suddenly heard from above, and the men jumped in surprise.

"What was that?" One of them asked.

Some of them pulled out their guns as they felt their heart racing.

Another whoosh, and this time, a figure jumped down on the hood of a nearby car. The men turned around at the sound, and it was no other than the sidekick of the caped crusader.

"Leave the drugs, leave the guns, and walk away," Robin ordered.

The men only pulled out the guns and demanded, "Where's Batman?"

Both groups weren't focused on the vigilante in front of them. They were all looking up, anticipating the bigger guy to appear and take them on. A few seconds passed, and there seemed to be nothing.

"Little birdy's alone," One of them scoffed.

A pissed look crossed Robin's face, and he pulled out his grappling hook, attacking the man who called him a "little birdy". The man flew a few feet, landing on the car's front window and creating webs of cracks on it.

The rest of the men pulled their guns out, but before they could shoot, Robin threw two smoke grenades on the ground. They all coughed, others attempting to blindly fire in front of them, and they were met with Robins stars on various body parts. The one closest to Robin felt his arm get yanked, and Robin fired his gun several times to get the rest of the men to duck.

When the magazine was finished, Robin twisted the man's arm and disarmed the gun before punching two other men in the face, sending blood splattering.

While he was busy fighting the first group of men, the other group of men―the one that Tyler Hackett was a part of―found themselves occupied with another attacker. It wasn't the partner vigilante they were expecting, no. This was different.

Arrows flew, hitting them either on their knees or on their arms, and the victims cried out in pain. Robin was too focused on his fistfight that he didn't register those cries. It was only when he knocked out everyone he was busy with that he found all four of Hackett's men on the ground with arrows on their limbs.

He pulled out his staff, extending it from its holder and knocking the men unconscious. Hackett, his main target, wasn't present, and he decided to chase after Hackett to the next alleyway. Turned out, Tyler Hackett was one of those hit in the arm, and he had pulled the arrow out and ran for his car.

Robin finished the job, leaving Tyler Hackett beaten-up and unconscious with a bloodied face as he cursed Batman under his breath. He returned to the initial alley where he beat up the other men, meaning to pick up his Robin stars, but the arrows were gone.

Except one.

* * *

**MORNINGS WERE MEANT TO BEGIN WITH A CUP OF COFFEE,** not with cleaning the blood off a suit like it was a regular occurrence. Yet, that was the routine Dick Grayson found himself in as his vinyl record player spun an eerie tune. 

The Robin chest plate was on his table as he scrubbed off the dirt in the crevices of the armor. The Robin shurikens were beside that, tainted with blood from the gang members the previous night, and the single arrow he found in one of the men’s legs.

Dick dropped the task of cleaning the suit as his attention was drawn to the arrow, and he picked it up. Its craftsmanship was unmistakable, a fragment of his childhood he couldn’t ever forget, but he did wonder what it was doing outside of Gotham. 

He placed the arrow back down on the table, and the look in his eyes was replaced with a tormenting glare as they fell on his own weapon―the R-shaped shurikens. The golden weapon that rested on the chest plate, that told people who he was in the night, was the medal of being the World’s Greatest Detective’s sidekick. It was the badge of honor that came with the crimson-emerald glory, but Dick knew better.

He knew the demons that hid behind this guardian angel, the rage, the violence, the nightmare in every kid’s dream to become a superhero. There was no point denying the good things that came out of Robin, but there was no running, no erasing the bad, the ugly, the trauma, and the terrors that it had forever embedded in his conscience.

In his anguish, the shuriken was thrown across the room, lodging into a punching bag, and Dick heaved uneasy sighs. 

A knock on the door snapped him out of it. Dick perked up, ready to hide everything he was cleaning up on the table, but he relaxed when the door unlocked itself from the other end.

There was only one other person who had the key to his apartment.

He let out a sigh, trying to calm his agitation as the door swung open, and he leaned his hands on the table as he waited for the person to shut the door.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, tone still tense.

"Good morning to you, too," Brooklyn replied, setting down her suitcase by the kitchen counter and walking over to Dick. "Did you get my message?"

"What are you, the Detroit Archer now?" Dick scoffed, setting the lone arrow he found on her side of the table.

"You're hilarious, Gray. At least Coast was smart enough to think of a generic name," Brooklyn snorted sarcastically, leaning against the table where his Robin suit was laid out. She crossed her arms and said, "Thought you said you wouldn’t wear the suit again,"

"Just needed to let off some steam," He muttered.

"Clearly," Brooklyn nodded, motioning to the fresh bruises on his bare chest. 

She saw him in action the previous night. After Amy Rohrbach mentioned Dick was working a case, it didn’t take her long to figure out that Dick working a night case was what she thought it was. She managed to track down Tyler Hackett, a child abuser with multiple cases filed and dismissed in the DCPD’s database, and join in on the fun.

But she didn’t expect to see the way the boy Wonder lashed out on the gang. His techniques were familiar, a second nature he couldn’t let go of even if he wanted to, but there was a certain ferocity that thrashed with every move, like a caged animal craving for bloodshed, a beast let out of its chains ready for a fresh onslaught.

The description may be an overdramatization of a three-minute encounter in the alleyway, but Brooklyn Natalie knew her best friend. She knew the boy from Gotham she grew up with, the parts of him that he never let anyone know of. Dick Grayson was a graceful athlete, the boy from the circus that was attuned to every part of his body. Even in extreme situations, he was a calculated combatant.

"Don't you have somewhere better to be, Alie?” Dick asked, a grumbling noise as he busied himself with returning his shurikens into their slot on the chestplate. "Like back in Gotham or in Coast?"

"I just got here and now you're kicking me out?" Brooklyn asked, narrowing her eyes at Dick. "Thought you'd be happy to see me,"

Dick Grayson was not good at hiding his scars, at straightening his back and plastering a smile, not like Brooklyn Natalie. There was too much anger, too much remorse in his soul for the light to shine through, but a small smile managed to brighten his face.

No matter how far he’s fallen or how irredeemable he thought he was, there was a part of his heart that he kept shut and tucked away from all the evil in the world, a part of himself that only Brooklyn Natalie could have.

He  _ was  _ happy she was back, his only piece of sanity. It had just been a month, but all the same.

"They were looking for  _ him  _ when I showed up," He huffed, letting out his frustrations as he leaned on the table, arms outstretched as his hands rested on either side of the Robin suit. "Thought they'd let go of it by now. It's been a year,"

Brooklyn didn’t say anything. Both of them knew that was never going to be the case. Never mind that it had been a year and that Robin moved into a different state―even when the world faces its end, when the gods come down from heaven and the earth cracks to reveal the hell beneath them, it would still be Batman and Robin. The duo had become infamous in Gotham since Dick took the mantle, and now with the Justice League in full-fledged force, the world had established the Boy Wonder as the Caped Crusader’s sidekick.

"Didn't look like you needed him though," She eventually told him, going for an encouraging remark in his favor. "Or me,"

"Then why'd you shoot?" Dick asked.

She shrugged, saying, "I wanted you to know I was there and that I was coming today,"

"Thanks for the heads-up," Dick chuckled softly, feeling lighter now that she was around and they were back to their normal banter.

Brooklyn smiled, a genuine glimmer in her aura unlike the one she plastered on in the DCPD.

"Don't you have work today?" She asked out of nowhere, deciding to take the conversation away from Batman, and an amused look crossed Dick's face, fully knowing what she was doing. 

They knew each other like the back of their hands. She was changing the topic for him.

"You're gonna be late if you don't get dressed," Brooklyn told him, playfully kicking his foot. "I'll finish this up for you,"

Dick stood up straighter, kissing her forehead, and said, "What would I do without you?"

"Get fired from your new job?" Natalie guessed, raising a brow.

Dick chuckled, and he let her pack the rest of his suit up as he got dressed for work.

* * *

**_THE FACETIME RINGTONE WAS THE CHERRY ON TOP_ ** _ for Brooklyn’s morning, her laptop already on the counter like she had been expecting the call, and she answered it with her coffee cup in one hand.  _

_ “Hey,” Dick grinned as the brunette sat down on her bar stool. _

_ Brooklyn swapped her grin for a scrunched-up look as she asked, “Why are you so happy this morning?” _

_ “Fine. Apparently, I’m not allowed to smile,” Dick told her, his grin immediately disappearing as he emphasized a frown. _

_ “Keep that up and they’ll hire you as the Grinch in the new Hallmark movie,” Brooklyn deadpanned.  _

_ “If they’ll hire me, I’ll take it,” Dick returned. “Job hunting is a pain in the ass. How’s Coast?”  _

_ “Still the same,” Brooklyn shrugged, stealing a quick glance at the balcony of her apartment, which gave her a gorgeous view of Coast City’s skyline. “How’s Detroit?” _

_ “Already better than Gotham,” Dick answered. “I’m thinking of leaning more into the detective work than the fieldwork,”  _

_ “Cop?” Brooklyn raised a brow, stunned but unsurprised. _

_ Dick sighed, “Not like our credentials fit anything else,”  _

_ “True,” Natalie muttered, sipping her coffee. She was having breakfast, but seeing as Michigan was three hours ahead of California, Dick was done with that part of the morning. _

_ “How’s your job holding up?” He asked.  _

_ “It’s honestly the same,” Natalie told him. “It’s just that I’m somewhere else,”  _

_ “D’you think I can visit you there soon?” Dick asked, a small smile on his face. _

_ “You’re clingy, Gray,” Natalie remarked, her face scrunching up as she took a bite of her breakfast.  _

_ “Look who’s talking,” Dick retorted. “You slept over for a week within the first month I moved,” _

_ “Shut up. Your apartment is huge,” Natalie pointed out. “You gotta get some use outta that,”  _

_ “And the best way to do that is fill it with your stuff,” Dick snorted. _

_ “It’s one shelf!” The brunette said defensively. _

_ “Only seems fair that I do it in your apartment too,” Dick said. _

_ “Land your job first then you can come over,” Natalie told him. “I’ll label the couch in advance,” _

_ Dick grinned, about to quip something up when he heard the doorbell through Natalie’s end of the call. “Are you expecting someone?”  _

_ Natalie’s head had snapped up to her door, and she narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “No,”  _

_ The brunette stood up to check who was at her apartment at eight in the morning, and Dick waited patiently. Based on what her mic was picking up, he decided to hang up, a certain look on his face as he did so. _

_ He sent her a quick message instead that was most certainly going to get him killed, but it gave him utter amusement anyway. _

* * *

As much as they wanted to say that their day played out normally, it didn't exactly go that way. Brooklyn was sorting her things out in Grayson's apartment, cleaning her own suit and wiping the blood off her arrows when the TV started broadcasting news on last night's happenings. 

The alleyway that Robin fought in had CCTV cameras up top and the mayor of Detroit stated that the vigilante should leave the city.

Brooklyn quickly pulled out her phone, sending a text to Grayson:

news. pls be careful

love you

The two always sent vague texts. It was a precautionary measure since anyone could be listening or hack their phones. It took a minute or two, but Grayson eventually replied.

i will

love you too

The two were planning on eating out that night, a mutual decision to save them the disaster that would happen in the kitchen, but something came up―particularly, a someone before the something. 

A young, violet-haired girl wound up in the Detroit Police Station, a homicidal case turned unworldly encounter, and there was something about the girl that Dick couldn't leave her behind. 


	4. ENTRY TWO ━ BROKEN HOPE.

_MOMMY, WHY DID YOU NAME ME...?_   
_**DADDY, HOW DID YOU CHOOSE MY NAME?** _

❛ There are three things in this world that are ours and _ours only_.

The first is your face. The second is your body. The third is your name.

Your face is part of your body, but I say it instead of mind because the face is the screen your mind operates. It shows people how you feel through the way your forehead creases, the way your brows raise, the way your nose scrunches, and the many expressions your eyes can display. It tells people what you think through your mouth.

Your body acts. It takes you places, gets things done, loves people, and hurts them. It communicates in ways that your mind cannot,

But those two are finite. One day, they will die. _You_ will die. _I_ will die.

It's your name that lives on. Your legacy.

Your name will be on people's minds when they think about what you've said and done to them. Your name will be written on paper when the world talks about what you've given them, what you've done _for_ them or _to_ them.

But while you live, it is your identity.

My name is Brooklyn Natalie.

I scoff at the last names I've taken on. Surnames were created for census purposes, a means to track families. Through time, they became legacies, sometimes weights for people who had to uphold the family name or chains for people who lived under the sins of their ancestors. To orphans, at least those like me, surnames mean nothing.

I was named after my mother's home, Brooklyn, New York. Natalie came from both my parents' names: Nathan and Alia. Those explanations used to be good enough for me, but growing up tugs at your curiosity.

Brooklyn meant "Broken Land". Natalie came from the Latin phrase _"Natale Domini"_ , the birth of the Lord—in short, _hope_. How poetic that, like my eyes, my name contradicts itself. Like my eyes, it told my story. It was both broken and hopeful, destruction and redemption, corruption and purity.

My parents and I were happy, blissful. I was their first child, their only child. To them, I was their angel, their Natalie. Cancer took my mother. Crime took my father. Corruption took me.

It raised me. It changed me. You could say the angel had lost her wings.

The Legend was meant to be the hope in a broken land, the light amongst the darkness that reeks the alleyways. A hero.

The Gotham Archer was the one who plagued the paradise, the one who took away the peace, the one who broke the land. She was no hero. She was a rogue, a vigilante. Some would take it so far as to say "monster".

I say _"she"_ when in reality, they're both me. ❜

 **⸻** 𝓑.𝓝.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The plot is based on the DC Universe TV Series Titans. Natalie, her character arc, her relationships with existing characters, and everything else to do with her are my original ideas. Although the TV Series itself is Rated R, this fanfiction, in my opinion, is Rated PG-13.


End file.
